


Not the Flesh But the Spirit

by AgentStannerShipper



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: (but not because he's an elf), Cultural Differences, Cultural Simliarities, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Hair Braiding, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tattoos, Weddings, asexual!Legolas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-11-19 20:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Gimli never asked to love Legolas, but his heart has always belonged to the elf. Legolas loves Gimli, but there are some things holding him back.





	1. A Wedding Among Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to admit upfront, this fic isn't my best, but I needed to write it. I had thoughts on elvish weddings, and how having an asexual elf might translate. Title taken from Romans 8:8 in the Bible, which I imagine Tolkien, as a Christian, might not thank me for. Also, I'm still not sure about using dwarven/dwarvish and elven/elvish, so feel free to correct me on that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli discovers that Legolas has many admirers.

In all the hubbub of celebration, Gimli had quite lost sight of Legolas. Only a moment ago, the elf had been by his side, his silver circlet cocked slightly on his head, his cheeks flushed in stark contrast to his pale robes, and a laugh in his voice as he swayed and begged Gimli to dance with him. The hobbits dominated the floor in spite of their small stature, teaching the larger folk the steps to a wedding dance of the Shire, and Gimli had laughed with Legolas and said, “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend.” Dwarves danced, but Gimli knew his heart well and to step out on the floor with Legolas would only break it further.

Tipsy on elvish wine from Rivendell, Legolas had pouted, “Please, Gimli?”

“No, silly elf. Why don’t you go bother one of your kin? I’m sure they would love to make merry with the prince of Mirkwood.” He had turned away for a moment after that, and when he turned back Legolas was nowhere to be found.

As the night wore on, the happy couple disappeared, teasing calls of the elves in attendance echoing after them. Most were in Sindarin, and so Gimli did not understand, but a few were in the common tongue, and those were all subtle comments about what one did on a marriage bed. Gimli stifled a chuckle and continued to search for Legolas. His friend had not returned to the dance floor, nor could Gimli find him anywhere else, and worry began to sink low in his stomach.

When he found him, it was outside, far from the joyous music and chatter of the wedding guests. Around him clustered a group of elves, those Gimli recognized from a Mirkwood congregation, who had traveled out to witness the wedding of Ara...King Elessar and Arwen Undomiel. As he approached, Gimli was startled to see Legolas’s face drawn tightly in a mask of neutrality. Gimli knew his friend well enough to tell that the lanky, blond princeling, so at home with the elves of Rivendell and Lothlorien during their journey, was hiding a great deal of discomfort. It made no sense. These should have been the elves with whom Legolas shared the closest kinship. And indeed, they seemed very comfortable with him. A dark-haired elf clad in gleaming robes the color of the sea had their slender hand curled around Legolas’s shoulder, and all were laughing at something a tawny-haired elf had said. Legolas, in contrast, merely smiled politely. 

Gimli steeled himself and drew level with the group. He cleared his throat loudly, and five pairs of unfriendly narrowed eyes and one pair of relieved blue ones turned to look at him. “Pardon me,” he said, “but King Elessar has requested the presence of Legolas Thranduilion. It sounded rather urgent.” He hoped that they had been outside long enough to be unaware that the king and his queen had both retired for the night.

He was in luck. Legolas merely frowned and followed Gimli away from the other elves, around the side of the palace. “What does Aragorn want with me?”

“Nothing that I know of,” Gimli responded. He glanced behind them and steered the elf around a corner and out of line of sight before stopping.

Legolas halted with him, “Then why…?”

“You looked uncomfortable and I thought I might rescue you.”

Legolas beamed broadly at him, not the false smile of earlier but a true, honest grin. “Truly, you have my thanks,” he said. “You are a noble friend.”

Gimli waved it off. They had paused by the open door to the courtyard, a balcony overlooking the gardens with stairs leading down into them. He walked to the railing, and then turned back to face his friend, “Why were you unhappy? Did it not please you to see your people again?”

Legolas stepped next to him, leaning against the white stone and tilting his head back to look at the stars. Gimli’s heart clenched tightly to see the elf bathed in moonlight, his pale face shining and lit further with the golden glow of his hair. His sapphire eyes reflected back the night sky, more precious than any stone Gimli had ever beheld. “It is...nothing,” Legolas said finally.

Gimli snorted, “Trust an elf to withhold his thoughts when it matters, when he can wax poetic about nonsense for hours. If it was nothing, it would not trouble you so.”

Legolas’s lips quirked and he said wryly, “I believe you are right, as always, mellon-nin. But it is not something you would understand.”

Gimli stiffened, drawing up to his full height, “Oh?”

“Peace,” Legolas said quickly. “I meant you no disrespect. But it is an elvish matter, and you are not well-versed in those, as I am not knowledgeable of dwarven ways.”

“That does not mean I cannot understand, if only you would explain it.”

Legolas’s smile turned sad, and he gazed down at Gimli, “Leave it be, mellon-nin, I beg you.”

Gimli huffed, but did as requested. Instead, he said, “And what of your companions? They seemed very familiar with you, so I do not understand why you seemed so uncomfortable with them.”

Legolas blushed, “Ecthelon and Norien are...old friends, of a sort. The others I did not know so well.”

“And which ones were Ecthelon and Norien?”

“Ecthelon is the one with dark hair and blue robes, and Norien is the one with hair like a sunset.”

Ecthelon was the one pawing at Legolas, then. Gimli suppressed that thought. It was hardly pawing, and Gimli had no say in who touched Legolas. “When you say old friends...?”

“Both Ecthelon and Norien attempted to court me when we were younger. Elves tend to marry young, and Norien is now wed, but Ecthelon is not, which is odd indeed.” Legolas flushed, “I believe he may still wish to court me.”

“Oh.” Gimli remained silent for several seconds, taking that in. “You are not wed, then?”

“No,” Legolas said simply. He did not offer any more information than that.

“And you have no interest in this Ecthelon?” Gimli prodded.

Legolas shook his head, “I have had many suitors in the past, but most gave up pursuing me long ago. I have not yet met an elf who caught my eye, and I doubt I shall ever be wed.”

Gimli sorely wanted to ask if a dwarf had ever caught his eye, but he bit his tongue and kept it in. “Shame,” he said quietly. “If you truly are such a catch among the elves, you will break a great many hearts with that thinking.”

Legolas narrowed his eyes in confusion, and then broke into a soft laugh, “Elvish love is steadfast, mellon-nin, and we do not force ourselves upon unwilling partners. If I do not encourage another’s affection, it will quickly shift to one who is more willing to receive such affection. Ecthelon is unusual in his prolonged interest in me, but I do not think it will break his heart if I never return his feelings.”

“Dwarves love only once,” Gimli felt compelled to share. “A dwarf who loses their One, or whose One does not return their feelings, often die of grief, or else they bury themselves in their craft. A great many of the beautiful things of my people have been made by heartbroken hands.”

“Have you ever found your One?” Legolas asked.

How to answer that… “I’m not sure,” Gimli admitted. It was both the truth and a lie: dwarves knew when they had found their One, knew it as sure as they knew their true name. The only uncertainty Gimli had was whether it was possible for a dwarf’s One to be an elf. He supposed it had to be possible, or else he would not be so convinced that Legolas was his.

“How can you be unsure?”

“I have not been looking.” There was truth: Gimli had not gone looking for his One. His One had found him.

Legolas seemed to accept that answer. His head turned the other way, towards the sea, and that wistful look crossed his face again. An uneasy churning rose in Gimli’s stomach. “Do not think I have forgotten your promise,” he said abruptly. “We leave soon, and I will bring you to the Glittering Caves and show you the wonders within.”

Legolas turned his back on the call of the sea, and Gimli could breathe easy again. The elf smiled, “And in turn you will see that Fangorn Forest offers many wonders as great as those set in stone.”

“Aye,” Gimli agreed, although privately he thought that no natural wonder would ever take hold of his heart so long as it belonged to his elf.

 


	2. Two Worlds as One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli and Legolas in the Glittering Caves and Fangorn Forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking I'll upload a chapter a day until this is done. It's pretty short.

Legolas hesitated on the threshold, looking nervously at Gimli, “Are you certain it is safe?”

Gimli rolled his eyes, “Daft elf. You have walked Khazad-dûm when it was swarming with orcs and braved the dark paths of the dead. Do you not trust me to lead you safely through this cave as well?”

Legolas nodded, “I trust you.”

“Good,” Gimli said. “Although to call it a cave does not do it justice, I assure you. Even an elf will be able to appreciate the wonders within.” He led Legolas inside, and the elf did not hesitate to follow him.

Legolas gasped when they reached the first large cavern. He stared up at the ceiling, transfixed, “It shines like the night sky!”

Gimli basked in the joy in Legolas’s eyes,  “I told you it was beautiful beyond words. Come, there is another chamber which I think you will appreciate more.”

Legolas tilted his head in confusion, but he obligingly followed Gimli deeper into the cave. Through the twisting caverns they walked, until finally the path opened up into a much larger area. In the very center, a large stalagmite burst up from the ground and glittered. Legolas’s eyes widened, and again his gaze went to the ceiling. Hovering over the stone growth was a large opening in the roof of the cave. “I can see the stars,” he whispered reverently.

“I thought you might like it,” Gimli said. “There are no trees, but I know you like the starlight. And this here is proof that stone too can grow.”

Legolas turned swiftly and embraced Gimli, a gesture which startled him. “Thank you for showing me this, mellon-nin,” Legolas said.

Gimli carefully returned the hug, “You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat and stepped away from the elf. “I thought we might spend the night here, and visit your forest tomorrow.”

“That sounds agreeable,” Legolas said. They spread out their bedrolls, and Gimli fell asleep watching Legolas watch the stars. 

The following morning they made for Fangorn. Gimli was careful not to reach for his axe, no matter how much the image of twisting, gnarled trees watching them unsettled him. He was less impressed with the forest than Legolas had appeared to be with the Glittering Caves, but to watch the elf flit among the trees and whisper secrets to them in his native tongue was well worth it.

“What are you telling them?” he asked.

Legolas gave him a sly look, “I am telling them of a dwarf dear to me, who is willing to travel a forest for the sake of our friendship.”

Gimli forced a grin and chuckle, as if the talk of friendship did not cut to the bone. “I don't imagine there are many of those,” he said.

“I have only met one,” Legolas responded, “and I would not trade one moment with him for another thousand years in the most beautiful forest on Arda.”

“Nor would I trade you for all the gold and mithril in the mountains,” Gimli replied.

“What about for another strand of the Lady Galadriel’s hair?” Legolas’s voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it.

Gimli answered honestly, “The Lady honored me greatly, and I will treasure her gift forever, but she is not the elf I hold most dear.” It was a risk to say it, but Legolas generally took such comments as a gesture of deep friendship and not the longing Gimli concealed within his heart.

“And would that be me, Master Dwarf?” The teasing voice remained, but the sharpness faded, replaced with easy warmth.

“Nay, it is Elrond,” Gimli rolled his eyes. “Of course it is you, daft elf.”

Legolas smiled behind his hand, and Gimli felt his heart flutter.

As night began to fall, Legolas found a stream within the forest, weaving its way through a cluster of large rocks. “You should feel right at home here,” he teased.

Gimli snorted affectionately as they set up camp. When they were done, Legolas stripped off his clothes and waded into the river to bathe. It was nothing Gimli had not seen before, as the long journey meant they were bound to see each other unclothed at some point, but he took special care not to stare too long at the elf’s bared body. He stripped down as well and waded in after Legolas. He undid his braids and washed his hair when he noticed Legolas doing the same.

Gimli did not put his tunic back on immediately when they waded out, although he did don his trousers. Legolas pressed a brush into his hand and settled in front of him without asking. They had done this a few times on the journey, and Gimli positioned himself so he could reach the back of the elf’s head properly as he began to run the brush through Legolas’s long, golden locks. When he finished with that, he began to braid, his fingers deftly remembering the style that Legolas favored as he twined the strands together.

The first time Legolas had asked him to braid his hair, Gimli had been startled. In dwarven society, braiding was for close family and lovers only, but he supposed it might have been different in elvish customs. The guilt he felt for deceiving Legolas, for partaking in such an intimate act when the elf was unaware of the implication, could not compare to his desire to pretend his friend knew exactly what it meant and wanted him to do it anyway.

When he finished with Legolas’s hair, the elf swapped their positions, more or less, so he could do the same for Gimli. He had become quite the master of dwarven braiding on the road, and he was always careful, as per Gimli’s request, to not deviate from the style in the slightest.

As he worked, Legolas said casually, “I have long wondered...what do your tattoos mean?”

Gimli did not answer immediately, and Legolas quickly added, “I know much of dwarven culture is secret. You do not have to tell me-”

“No, it’s alright,” Gimli said. “I was just thinking how best to answer you.” He considered a moment longer, and then said, “The one on my back I got when I came of age. It is a rite of passage.” The tattoo in question was a series of intricate knots, bound subtly with runes that proclaimed Gimli’s ancestry. “This one,” he gestured to the tattoo wrapped around his left bicep, “I got when I fought my first battle. It was not a great one, but I showed great skill and honor as a warrior, and that it what it represents.”

“And this one?” By now, Legolas had shifted to be in front of Gimli so he could braid his beard, and the elf’s fingers paused in their task to brush boldly over Gimli’s chest, where dark ink twisted over his heart in a strange, seemingly random pattern. Gimli had designed it, and to him it always looked like a tree. “What does this one mean?”

Gimli coughed, “That one is private.”

Legolas withdrew his fingers, “Oh.” He cheeks grew rosy, and he went back to braiding.

Gimli took pity on him, “Some dwarves have the gift of future sight somewhere in their family line. Such dwarves may have dreams of their One, a glimpse of their eyes or a hint of their voice or something like that. I had such a dream, and I got this to remind me of my One.” The dream had been confusing at the time, a blur of golden hair dappled by the shadows of leaves and a clear, ringing laugh like finely tuned bells. The image of a tree had stayed clearly with Gimli as he had grown, and only when they had reached Lothlorien and he had seen his elf wandering beneath the foliage in the faded light had he fully understood what it had meant.

“So you have seen them in a dream?”

Gimli cursed himself for bringing up his One again. Legolas’s seemingly infinite elvish curiosity appeared to apply even more so where Gimli’s One was involved. What he wanted to say was  _ Yes. For every moment I spend with you seems like the happiest dream I have ever had, and I dearly hope I never waken from it _ . Instead, he said vaguely, “Not clearly, but yes.”

Legolas nodded, and released Gimli’s hair. He moved to curl up on his bedroll, and Gimli pulled the rest of his clothes on and settled on his. Eventually, he asked, “If elves do not have a One, then what do they look for in a mate?”

“That is simple,” Legolas said. “We appreciate beautiful hair, and we especially like a good singing voice.”

Gimli snorted, “I should have guessed that of an elf.” Privately, he sighed. By elvish standards, Gimli had neither a good singing voice nor beautiful hair. The former was too deep, the latter too curly and rough. He had some consolation in the fact that Legolas was not particularly attractive by dwarvish standards either. His lack of a beard and his sharply pointed ears would do him no favors in courting a dwarf, but Gimli thought him beautiful anyway.

They were quiet a few minutes longer, and then Gimli asked, “So you have never found an elf who sings well enough to tempt you?”

“Never,” Legolas confirmed.

“And I suppose no one can compete with your luscious locks, vain elf.”

Legolas laughed, “If you wish to think that of me, so be it.”

Another beat of silence, and then, “What is an elvish wedding like?”

Legolas quieted, his laughter dying away instantly. “You just attended one,” he said.

“Arwen and Aragorn’s wedding followed the customs of Man more so than those of elves, according to Aragorn.” Gimli turned on his side to look at Legolas, frowning when he saw the pain in his friend’s eyes. “Legolas? What troubles you?”

“It is nothing,” Legolas said, and Gimli wondered if their conversation in Minas Tirith still weighed on Legolas’s mind. Perhaps the subject of marriage was more sensitive than Legolas let on. But before Gimli could change the subject, however, Legolas said quietly, “An elvish marriage often features a celebration, with singing and dancing as you might expect, but a true elvish wedding is done with only the couple present.”

Gimli waited for Legolas to continue, and eventually the elf said, “There is a saying among men: to bed an elf is to wed an elf. This is true.”

“Oh,” Gimli said. He did not ask any more questions, and Legolas did not offer any further comments. The sleep that Gimli finally dropped into was an uneasy one. His dream was full of sapphire gems sliding like tears from a weeping willow tree, and he did not understand it when he woke in the morning.

 


	3. A Warm Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas is excited to see his father again, and Gimli is worried.

They left Fangorn behind to make for home, and as home was in more or less the same direction for both, they did not part ways. Gimli treasured each moment by Legolas’s side, knowing that sooner or later, he would have to leave the elf and go his own way. It was a joy to see Legolas in his element, for he looked far more at home among the trees and fields they traveled than he had surrounded by elves and Men in Minas Tirith.

Finally, they reached the edge of the forest of Mirkwood. Or rather, the edge of Greenwood, for already the darkness had begun to lift and it was much restored to its former glory. Gimli paused, for they had not spoken of parting here. “I suppose I should return to Erebor,” he said reluctantly. “My family will wish to see me, and I have much to tell them.”

Legolas looked at him in alarm, but he quickly schooled his features. “If that is what you desire,” he said softly, “then far be it from me to deny you.”

“It is not that I wish to leave you,” Gimli said, “but I do not think I would be welcome among your people.”

Legolas smiled brightly, “If that is your only fear, then let me lay it aside for you. You would walk the halls of my father as my guest, and no one would dare question your presence if it was my wish.”

“Not even your father?”

Legolas’s smile dimmed, but he said, “My father loves me, and he would not deny me this. Not when you are now a great hero of Arda, and my friend.”

“If you are sure,” Gimli said, unable to keep doubt from his voice. Only for Legolas would he venture within the realm of the wood elves, the realm where his kith and kin had been held captive on their journey to reclaim their homeland. Although it was ironic, Gimli thought, that the same elf who had captured his father and insulted his family in these very woods now invited him in as a guest and a friend.

“I am sure,” Legolas said firmly, and led them into the wood.

There was much excitement when the news spread that the prince was coming home, but it was muted with curiosity at Legolas’s strange traveling companion. Gimli noticed the stares as they wove deeper into the Greenwood, but Legolas seemed oblivious to them.

Seemed, being the operative word, because as they approached the halls of King Thranduil, Legolas whispered to Gimli, “Ignore them. They have always thought me a bit strange, and you are just further proof. They mean nothing by it.”

Gimli was not reassured, but he appreciated the attempt.

As they entered the throne room, Gimli discovered that his mental image of Thranduil, drawn up from stories his father told him and distant glimpses of the Elvenking on diplomatic journeys to Erebor, was simultaneously very accurate and very far from the truth. Sprawling was the only word for how Thranduil sat on his throne, stretching out to take up far more space than Gimli would have thought possible from a lean elven body. His robes were pale as his skin, and his eyes appeared both piercing and unfocused at the same time. His face rested in a neutral, bored expression, but the moment Legolas entered, Thranduil straightened up, a smile curving his lips. He held open his arms, and Legolas all but fell into them.

“Ada!” Legolas hugged his father tightly.

Thranduil stroked his son’s hair gently, more reverently than Gimli believed possible of the famously cold elf. “Iôn-nin,” Thranduil murmured. “It is good to have you home at last.”

Legolas pulled away from his father, and gestured Gimli to come closer. He obeyed cautiously, moving forward until he was only a few feet away from the Elvenking. “Ada, this is Gimli, son of Gloin,” Legolas said. “He is one of the Nine Walkers who set out to destroy the Ring of Power, and one of the Three Hunters who quested to save our hobbit friends from peril. He has been named Elf-friend and Lockbearer by Lady Galadriel herself, and he is my dearest friend.”

Thranduil turned towards Gimli, who had the sudden feeling that the Elvenking was seeing him without really  _ seeing  _ him. Thranduil tilted his head in a gesture very like his son, “A dwarf befriending an elf, and my son, no less? These are strange times indeed.”

Gimli shifted from foot to foot, unsure what to say. Finally, he managed, “Not so strange, I should think. Bonds forged in shared struggle and combat are stronger than mithril, and just as difficult to break. Elf though your son may be, he has defended me countless times, and I him. I am honored to call him my friend.”

“You speak well, Gimli son of Gloin,” Thranduil seemed satisfied, leaning back. “Legolas, I suggest you and your friend bathe and refresh yourselves. I shall have a feast prepared in honor of your arrival.”

“Thank you, Ada.”

“That went well,” Gimli muttered as they left the throne room.

Legolas’s eyes shone brightly, “He liked you.”

“How could you tell?”

Legolas’s mouth twisted up into a smile very like his father’s, “I know my father well, mellon-nin. Trust me, he liked you, as well as he can like any dwarf.”

Shortly after, Gimli was separated from his elf, and led to a room where he bathed and changed out of his traveling grab and into something more fitting for the court of the Elvenking. Then he went in search of Legolas again.

His friend was in his chambers, dressed in flowing silver robes, not unlike those he had worn to King Elessar’s wedding. His braids were undone, and he was running a brush through his golden hair. Gimli knocked on the open door, and Legolas turned, his face lighting up when he saw who stood there. He gestured for the dwarf to enter, and handed him the brush. 

Gimli looked at him in surprise, “Surely now that you are home, you’d prefer one of your kin to do this.”

Legolas blushed. “I must admit,” he said softly, “I got rather used to you brushing my hair while on the road. And while we may be among my kin, I still wish you to do it.”

Gimli snorted affectionately, moving the elf so he could continue the brushstrokes where Legolas had left off. “Whatever will you do without me?” he said. “I will not always be here to brush and braid your hair, vain elf.”

Legolas grew quiet for a moment, and Gimli instantly wished to take back the words. Then, Legolas said, “All the more reason for me to take advantage of it while I still have you by my side.”

Gimli set the brush aside and began to section out Legolas’s hair for his braids. It occurred abruptly to him that this might be the last time he ever had opportunity to touch his elf’s hair, and his hands became more reverent in their motions. He would never admit to drawing it out longer than usual, but if Legolas noticed he said nothing of it. Finally, almost regretfully, Gimli tugged gently on the end of Legolas’s braid, “Done.”

“Thank you,” Legolas smiled at him. It was different than most of Legolas’s smiles; Gimli counted and memorized each and every one. This was a sadder smile, and Gimli could not understand why. He wondered if it was for the same reason he himself felt sorrow.

“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly. “Now come. It would not do to be late to our own feast.”

“You are right,” Legolas agreed. He stood, “Let us go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iôn-nin = my son in Sindarin


	4. Admissions in Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli and Legolas reveal their feelings.

Gimli had to admit, the elves knew how to party. Although the music was lighter than most dwarven song, the food more bland and largely green, and the dancing less rowdy and more elegant, the wine was strong and the company was good. Despite being back home and surrounded by those he had grown up with, Legolas did not stray far from Gimli’s side all night, even managing to coax the reluctant dwarf into a dance or two, although Gimli complained the entire time that he was not made for elvish dancing. “I am not graceful enough for it,” he grunted.

“I disagree,” Legolas said. “I have seen you in battle, remember, and in my many years I have beheld few things more graceful than you wielding your axe.”

Gimli could not find a serious answer within himself, at least not one that he could voice, and so instead huffed and said, “Dancing is not battle, foolish elf.”

“A battle can be a kind of dance, and a dance can be a kind of battle,” was Legolas’s predictably poetic and nonsensical answer.

Gimli shook his head and stepped away, “I need a moment to catch my breath.” Legolas let him go, and disappeared back into the throng of dancers.

It was in that moment that Thranduil slipped to Gimli’s side. The Elvenking was so silent that Gimli jumped when he noticed his presence. Thranduil, fortunately, made no comment of his awkwardness. Instead, he merely said, “Legolas seems quite taken with you.”

Gimli glanced up, but Thranduil was not looking at him. His blue-grey eyes stared out across the dance floor. “We grew very close on our journey,” Gimli said. “I will be sorry to be parted from such a good friend.”

“That is not what I meant,” Thranduil said. “I know my son well. I know what is in his heart, as I know what is in yours, Gimli son of Gloin. It is not just friendship you feel for my son, is it?”

Gimli’s mouth fell open, and he closed it with a gulp. “How did you-”

“I may be blind, but that does not mean I do not see.”

Blind. It struck Gimli as abruptly obvious, but Thranduil did not carry himself as though he was blind. Damn elves.

“I have braided Legolas’s hair every day since he was but a child,” Thranduil continued, “and yet he did not seek me out today, the day he returned home. His hair has been braided, but it is not by my hand, nor do I think it is by his own. Which leads me to believe that you have been braiding my son’s hair, dwarf.”

Gimli got the sense that braiding an elf’s hair was not so innocent as he believed. “I didn’t mean anything improper by it-”

“An elf’s hair is extremely important to them, and only immediate family is allowed to touch it. The only exception is when an elf takes a lover. I know this to be true of dwarven societies as well. Tell me, Gimli son of Gloin. Have you wed my son?”

Well that was blunt. “No,” Gimli answered honestly. “Certainly not in the ways of my people, and from the little knowledge I have on elvish culture, neither are we married in yours.” While Gimli could not deny the appeal of bedding Legolas, he would never dare make a move towards the elf. He did not wish to damage their friendship.

Although, he was quickly realizing, the attraction may not have been as one-sided as he believed, given his new information about elvish braiding customs.

“You believe Legolas feels affection for me?” he asked. “Beyond the bonds of friendship, I mean.”

“I do.” Thranduil’s face was infuriatingly neutral, but at least it was not twisted in disgust. “And you feel the same for him.”

“Aye,” Gimli agreed. There was no longer any point in denying it. Hesitantly, he asked, “Now what? Are you to forbid me from seeing your son, lest he be tempted by a dwarf?”

Thranduil frowned, “Of course not. I do not pretend to have any love for your people, but I do love my son. To separate you from Legolas would make him most unhappy, and given how much suffering there has been as of late, I do not wish to upset my son. I will allow Legolas to continue to see you, and if you desire to court and wed him, then I will not stop you. You are of the line of Durin, so at least you are of noble blood. There are worse matches for my son, and he has always been a bit odd. I truly thought he would never marry; he never showed any inclination. But if you asked, I believe he might agree.”

It wasn’t quite a blessing, but it was more than Gimli would have expected of the Elvenking. Thranduil slipped away as quietly as he had come, and a few moments later Legolas was returned to Gimli’s side, perhaps a bit more bubbly with wine than before but radiant all the same.

“Have you caught your breath enough for another dance, mellon-nin?” Legolas asked brightly. Then he frowned, face drawing in concern when he took in Gimli’s expression. “Gimli? Is everything alright?”

“I just spoke to your father,” Gimli said quietly.

The worry on Legolas’s face amplified, “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing bad, I think, but something very interesting indeed.” Gimli swallowed, and before he lost his courage he asked, “Do you think we could speak privately?”

Legolas nodded, and he guided Gimli away from the crowd, down passages of finely carved stone, until he finally led him out into a courtyard open to the stars, ivy climbing the walls and twining into beautiful designs around bushes bursting with pale pink and white flowers. So far had they traveled into the palace that the party was only a dull hum behind them. Legolas sat down on a white stone bench, folding his hands together. “What did you wish to speak to me about that could not be voiced around others?” he asked.

Gimli sat next to him. “You have not been completely forthcoming with me,” he said quietly. At Legolas’s abruptly pained expression, he added quickly, “That is alright, for I have not been entirely forthcoming with you either.”

Legolas tilted his head in confusion.

“Why did you not tell me what it meant to touch an elf’s hair?” Gimli asked more plainly.

Understanding dawning in Legolas’s blue eyes, and he immediately went to his knees before Gimli. “Forgive me, mellon-nin,” he begged. “I am sorry to have deceived you. Please do not cast away my friendship.”

“I have no intention of casting aside your friendship,” Gimli said. “As for forgiveness, I will forgive you only if you can forgive me.” When Legolas’s expression returned to confusion, Gimli said gently, “In dwarven culture too, hair braiding is for family and lovers. It seems our ways are not so different as we initially thought.”

“You mean…?”

“Your father believes you are in love with me,” Gimli said, “and if he is right, I beg that you tell me now and end my torment. You are my One, Legolas, and if all you can ever give me in return is your friendship, then I will take it gladly, but if you feel as I do-”

Legolas did not let him finish, but took Gimli’s hands between his own and kissed the knuckles. “There is another truth I concealed from you,” he said. “I told you that elves do not force another to love them as they do, and that is the truth, but I also said that elvish affection will shift to one who can return their feelings, and this is false. For many elves it is the case, but for others they will pine after the object of their affections until the end of time, loving them from afar but never seeking them out. I love you, more so than I ever thought it possible for me to love another, but I did not dare ask if you felt the same, for I could not bear it if you rejected me and I lost your friendship. But Gimli-nin, meleth-nin, if I am your One then I do not fear any longer, for I know my love is returned.”

“And you can bear to love a mortal?” Gimli asked.

“When that mortal is you, I have no choice in my love, and I will gladly love you for as long as the Valar will give us.”

Gimli tilted Legolas’s chin up, and like this they were about the same height. Legolas seemed to understand the motion, and leaned forward to meet Gimli for a chaste kiss.

Legolas broke it first, pulling away and asking, “And what now?”

“Normally, by dwarven customs, I would court you. However, the process is long and complicated, and I’m wondering if you are amenable to skipping that part.”

Legolas laughed, “I think we can manage without. Elvish courting is short and not so complicated, but I think we have wasted enough time as it is.”

“Then I would wed you,” Gimli murmured, “in whatever fashion you desire.”

At those words, Legolas grew quiet. Finally, he said softly, “I wish for a dwarven ceremony. I want to wed you in the ways of your people, and an elvish ceremony does not feel nearly enough to show how much I love you.”

Gimli smiled, “Then a dwarven wedding you will have.” He paused, and then laughed.

“What?” Legolas asked.

“I can’t imagine what my father will say when I arrive at Erebor with you in tow and tell him we are to be married, but I think I can picture the look on his face.”

Horror dawned in Legolas’s eyes. “Your father,” he said weakly. Gimli laughed harder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the Hobbit headcannon that Thranduil is actually blind. I think it makes a lot of sense.


	5. Love Beyond Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli and Legolas marry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding vows shamelessly stolen and doctored from The Dwarrow Scholar and realelvish.net.

Gloin’s reaction was more or less what Gimli had expected. He and Legolas left Greenwood together, after assuring the Elvenking that he would be invited to the wedding of his only son. When they arrived at Erebor, there was a great deal of rejoicing, for Dain and many others had fallen in the months of Sauron’s last stand, and to have one of the line of Durin home again was cause for celebration. Gloin met them at the gates, and his face turned pale and then red when he recognized Legolas. The elf looked equally stricken.

Gimli rolled his eyes and embraced his father, tapping their foreheads together. Then he gestured Legolas forward, “Adad, you remember Legolas.”

Gloin eyed the elf suspiciously, “What brings an elf to Erebor?”

Legolas stammered, and looked to Gimli helplessly. Gimli stepped in, “He is here because we are to be married, and we would like to have our wedding at the Lonely Mountain.”

Gloin made a sound rather like choking, and Gimli wondered if he would have to call a healer for his father. Eventually Gloin recovered and said, “ _ Married? _ You are getting  _ married _ to an  _ elf? _ ”

“I am getting married to my One,” Gimli said pointedly.

Silence fell between them, and then Gloin sighed. “If he is your One, then I suppose we will have to welcome him into the family.”

“A dwarf’s One is sacred,” Gimli explained to Legolas later. “No one here will oppose our marriage knowing you are mine.”

Meeting Gimli’s mother was equally amusing. Funli took one look at Legolas and said, “So this is the elf who insulted me and called my son a goblin mutant.” Before Legolas could so much as apologize, she reached up and patted his cheek, “He’s a pretty one, for an elf. And a prince, no less. You’ve done well, inùdoy.” She smiled at Gimli.

There was a little grumbling about having an elf partake in a dwarven ceremony, given that Legolas would need to learn some words in Khuzdul for the vows, but Gimli was steadfast in his determination, and the naysayers quickly learned to keep their mouths shut. For the ceremony, Legolas made only one request of Gimli: Elvish vows in addition to Dwarvish ones. Gimli agreed.

The wedding was spectacular, as befit the prince of Greenwood and the future Lord of the Glittering Caves (Gimli had gotten permission to start a new colony there as soon as the caves were fit for living). Legolas looked stunning in dwarven robes, adorned with gold and silver, his hair thick with dwarven beads and clasps set with emeralds and sapphires, and he stared intently at the officiant the entire time, as if trying to understand the words being spoken.

When it came time for the vows, Legolas went first, “Gi melin, ah ídhron gi *mestad. Ma i innas gîn?”

Gimli responded carefully, trying not to butcher the words Legolas had patiently taught him, “Ind nîn be ind gîn. Bestathanc.”

Traditionally, rings would be exchanged, but Legolas and Gimli had both agreed that they had had enough of rings for even Legolas’s lifetime. Instead, Legolas took a bead he had carved from the wood of a tree in the garden where they had admitted their feelings and braided it into Gimli’s hair. Gimli did that same to Legolas with a bead forged of mithril, a gift from his mother for Gimli to shape when she heard of their impending marriage.

Then Gimli spoke, “Ni dûmê zasamkhihiya zahar, ni kurduzi zâmkhihi azhâr.”

Legolas answered in kind, “Ni dûmzu zâmkhihi zahar, ni kurdumê zasamkhihi azhâr.” His accent made the words a little difficult to understand, but Gimli smiled nonetheless.

Following the ceremony was much feasting, although Thranduil left before it began. Though he loved his son dearly, the Elvenking had no patience for dwarvish merriment. Gimli did not take offense, and he knew there would be enough trouble with in-laws in the future not to go seeking it out in the present.

Finally, exhausted from dancing and looking to flee the well-wishers who continued to plague them, they retired to their chambers. It was not lost on Gimli that with every step away from the others, the smile faded slightly from the elf’s face, until the door closed behind them and Legolas’s expression was entirely one of trepidation. “Legolas?” he questioned softly. “Is something wrong?”

Legolas shook his head, forcing a smile. “I am alright,” he said.

Gimli sat down on the bed, patting the space next to him to indicate that the elf should do the same. “You clearly are not,” he said. “Is this another elvish thing I will not understand?”

Legolas gingerly sat next to him, keeping nearly a foot of space between them. “Yes and no,” he said. He hung his head, “I am...odd, even for an elf.”

Gimli said nothing, but waited for his husband to continue. Eventually, Legolas said, “I asked to be married in the dwarvish fashion because I did not wish to wed you in the elvish way.”

“Oh.” Gimli clenched his jaw, trying not to let his upset show. “I know dwarves are not considered attractive by elvish standards, but-”

“That is not it,” Legolas interrupted. “I find you very beautiful, meleth-nin. Your hair shines like the setting sun, and your voice is as deep and powerful as a rushing river. Your hands are strong and sure with a weapon, but also gentle, capable of shaping the most delicate of metals. I think you very beautiful, and I do not wish you to doubt that.”

“Then why…?”

“The fault lies not with you, but with me.” Legolas toyed with the hem of his sleeve. “I always assumed I would never wed because I never had any interest in any of the elves I had met. We are not generally lustful creatures, but we do experience that sort of attraction. I say we...I never have.” He sighed, “I love you with all my heart, Gimli, and I hoped that wedding you would, perhaps, awaken something inside me that has lain dormant these many years. Unfortunately, it did not.”

Gimli blinked, trying to take in what Legolas was explaining. “You are worried because you do not wish to share a marriage bed with me?”

Legolas nodded. Gimli sighed in relief and gently turned Legolas’s head so he could press his forehead against the elf’s, his fingers curling around the back of Legolas’s neck. “Oh Legolas,” he breathed. “You should not fear me like this. You are my One, and I would never wish unhappiness or harm upon you.”

“What about your own unhappiness? Could you truly be happy in a chaste marriage?”

“Of course I could, you daft elf. I have your heart, do I not? What more do I need?”

Legolas pulled away, frowning, “You are sure?”

“Legolas, ghivashel, I feared you thought me hideous, or worse, that you regretted marrying me. Of course I am sure, and I will remain sure as long as we are together.”

The relief on Legolas’s face, and the shy smile he offered, were well worth the moment of uncertainty. Together, the pair stripped off their ceremonial robes and curled up together on the bed, Gimli resting easy now that his elf was finally in his arms where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, guys! Just a little thing I needed to get out. If there's interest, I might write a bit of an epilogue, but otherwise I'm done with this fic. Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Khuzdul  
> inùdoy = son  
> Ni dûmê zasamkhihiya zahar, ni kurduzi zâmkhihi azhâr = In my Halls you will find a house, in your heart I will find a home  
> Ni dûmzu zâmkhihi zahar, ni kurdumê zasamkhihi azhâr = In your Halls I will find a house, in my heart you will find a home
> 
> Sindarin  
> Gi melin, ah ídhron gi *mestad. Ma i innas gîn? = I love you, and I want to marry you. What is your will?  
> Ind nîn be ind gîn. Bestathanc = My will is like your will. We shall wed.  
> ghivashel = treasure of treasures


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue that literally nobody asked for but popped into my head today and wouldn't let me go until I wrote it. It's tiny and cute; enjoy.

Legolas tipped his head back in Gimli’s lap, relishing the feeling of his husband’s fingers running gently through his hair in long, slow strokes. His eyes, previously closed, fluttered open lazily, and a small smile quirked on his lips.

Gimli narrowed his eyes at him, “What are you smiling about, elf?”

“I’m happy.”

“You’re always happy when you’re being pampered,” Gimli responded, his voice fond in spite of the gruffness. “Spoiled elf.”

Legolas reached back and drew one of Gimli’s hands from his hair, cradling the worn, gnarled flesh between his slender, unchanged fingers and pressing his lips to the knuckles in a series of delicate kisses. Gimli humored him, his other hand stilling in Legolas’s hair. When Legolas was done, he murmured, “Are you happy, meleth-nin?”

Gimli’s snort was expected; Legolas smiled. Sometimes he worried Gimli would tire of this question, of Legolas’s insecurity, but even after so many years the dwarf’s answer was the same every time.

“So long as I am with you, I will always be happy, ghivashel.” He bent down, white beard tickling Legolas’s face, to press a soft kiss to his lips.

Satisfied, Legolas closed his eyes again, and Gimli resumed stroking his hair. His hands were stiffer now, less adept at braiding and brushing, but dwarves were sturdy, and it would be many more years before his once clever fingers lost all their flexibility.

“You still hear the gulls cry, don’t you?” Gimli asked quietly. “They call you still.”

Upon hearing the words, the familiar ache swelled like the tide in Legolas’s chest, and a single tear slipped past his eyelid and down his cheek. But he settled, listening to Gimli’s steady breathing and, if he strained just a little, his rhythmic heartbeat. “Yes,” he answered truthfully, “but someone with a far greater power over my heart calls for me to stay.”

It would not last forever. Someday, Legolas would give in and sail across the sea. But who knows? Maybe, Valar willing, he would be able to take his heart with him.


End file.
